


Small Bed

by sinoka



Series: DimiClaude Birthday Week 2020 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinoka/pseuds/sinoka
Summary: Day 5 of dmclbdayweek on twitter: Dimitri's bed is too small for him to sleep on, but there's one in the monastery that isn't.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: DimiClaude Birthday Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881592
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Small Bed

**Author's Note:**

> FUN FACT I FORGOT THIS DAY EXISTED BC I'M USED TO 7 DAY SHIP WEEKS OVER 8 AND SOMEHOW I SKIPPED THIS ONE OVER.
> 
> so i banged out this fic in about an hour and threw in what is probably an awkward 'comfortable' so it might fit the 'comfort' theme a little.
> 
> anyway rush hour fic i didn't have time to edit let's goooooooo.

Currently, Dimitri has four things on his mind; three more pressing thoughts if you disregard the ever constant awareness of Edelgard and her war.

1: Dedue wants him to sleep.

2: His old academy bedroom is uncomfortable, rife with poor memories.

3: His bed’s too small.

He had eaten well, his meal had been devoured by a voracious appetite that had been unsatisfied with the poor attempts his lost, beastly side had made at quelling his hunger, and the fullness had lulled him into drowsiness. He had hoped to comply easily with Dedue’s wishes, to bring _some_ comfort to his old friend in such troubled times.

But the wailing of ghosts was strengthened in this place, screams battering his ears from the walls, the window, the tattered rug. And he could no longer curl into himself to shield himself from the piercing noise, he’s grown too much in these past 5 years. His bed’s too small.

Perhaps Dimitri could work off some stress in the training grounds, talk with Mercedes as she wandered in the dark and hunted for ghosts and their grisly tales, he could be content with anything as long as he had a reason to get out _out_ **_out_ ** of this room.

With the speed he pushes himself up off the lumpy _thing_ \- unfit to be called a mattress - he’s surprised the frame doesn’t shatter. But there’s no time to linger on it. He needs to get away.

He wavers in his march down the corridor, debating if it would be worth the risk of Felix’s ire to knock and see if he were still awake, if he’d like to spar. The safe answer is _no_. Dimitri hangs his head, sighs and walks slower than before now that he’s begun to think. How unfortunate, when all he wants now is for his brain to turn off.

It’s more fortunate that the one place in the world where that could ever happen is the room _right_ next to Felix’s.

Dimitri has no bad memories of Claude’s room, only the distinct recollection of each time he’d laughed, stared into stunning green eyes and felt a Thunder spell attack his spine for every instance of their fingers brushing against each other and interlocking. Dimitri has no bad memories of Claude’s room, not even the time he had fallen off the bed would qualify.

It had been silly, it had been something more for Claude to tease him about, it had been Dimitri’s surprise and embarrassment and one hundred different joyous feelings after Claude had kissed him for the first-

Wait.

Bed.

Claude’s giant, soft bed that was able to support two people, surely even now it could at least support Dimitri.

He bites his lip, flexes his fingers for something to _do_ while his feet stand stiller than a frozen lake.

Dedue wants him to sleep.

_Dimitri’s_ room is uncomfortable, rife with poor memories, a stage for the deceased to screech at him like he’s the lone audience member in an opera hall.

_Dimitri’s_ bed is too small. Claude’s shouldn’t be. _Claude’s_ could carry his larger frame.

He steps into a familiar mess, books strewn on every surface but the walls, just _goading_ any visitor to trip over them and make a fool of themselves. Cobwebs cover the constantly propped open window, threads on a tapestry; the reason for the open window lies buried in a thriving civilization of dust, Claude’s old apothecary equipment. Dimitri remembers the one time he asked after the reason why Claude would practically _invite_ the spiders in, only to receive a cheeky smirk and a lilting ‘Well, got to air the room out after every concoction’s done. And besides, I need the scent to get out to Seteth and his ‘student being terrible’ senses, I’m thinking of going for a record in how many lectures I can get a day.’

That was a better time. Neither of them had been totally honest or open about much, but Dimitri could say without reservation that they’d enjoyed each other’s company, enjoyed the casual physical contact when Claude would throw his arm over Dimitri’s shoulder and blow coolly behind his ear to rile him up.

Dimitri sits down on the mattress, soft, warm, with a smile quivering onto his lips. They were better times, when Claude would grab Dimitri’s wrists and pull with all his might to lead him into an impromptu dance. Better times when Dimitri would follow him and watch him grin, only to finally, _finally_ , take _Claude_ by surprise by dipping him and pressing a kiss to his neck - the only time Dimitri had made Claude blush deep enough to be so visible on his skin. It was a better time when they could dine together and he could feel Claude’s warmth at his shoulder, in their linked hands, when Claude was close enough that his scent stole Dimitri’s attention from any smell of his meal.

He grips the quilt in his hands, brings it to his face, thinking that maybe, _maybe_ , it could still smell like Claude.

It doesn’t, Claude’s comforting scent is no match for five years worth of dust and the sneezes it brings. Time to stand; shake it out. The dust whirls back through the air into Dimitri’s nose, punishing him for his folly by cursing him to sneeze thrice more.

Outside, clouds float away from the moon and a yawn rises from the sleepy prince’s mouth. Claude’s mattress, uncovered, becomes more inviting.

Well, as a guest, it would surely be rude to decline.

The mattress is warm, soft; the quilt, now dust free, warms him further; the dim light of the crescent moon brushes over him and a sudden, gentle breeze ghosts over his forehead, nudges his hair off his face. Dimitri isn’t sure he’s felt so relaxed since the summer day he and Claude fell asleep in the shade of an oak tree, Dimitri’s back to the bark, Claude’s arm thrown over his chest.

Better times…

But for now, it’s warm.

It’s comfortable.

It’s _just_ the right amount of familiarity and quiet peace to bring a smile to Dimitri’s face again.

He’s asleep in minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> post-timeskip dimitri is a giant and should sleep in claude's giant ass bed. that is all.
> 
> thank you for reading! feedback is as always appreciated!


End file.
